There Is No Ever After
by Opal Soul
Summary: A/U. Sometimes forever is limited, promises are broken, and Prince Charming is a jerk. But what if you can't forget that tainted fairy tale? Darien Theodorakis trampled on Serena Dawson's heart and stole her innocence. Can such imperfect love be real?


There Is No Ever After  
Chapter One [The Wedding]  
By: Opal Soul  
Disclaimer: Do you *think* I'm talented enough to own Sailor Moon?  
  
  
  
The familiar strains of "Pachabel's Canon" danced in the fragrant air of the bedecked sanctuary. Sprays of flushed pink roses and sprigs of fresh baby's breath sprawled over banisters and the wooden backs of pews, crawling up and down the beautifully carved pulpit.  
  
The minister, dressed in a robe of brilliant white to cover his black suit, stood off to the side, looking on quietly as a gold velvet carpet was unrolled by the two ushers, tumbling over uneven carpeted stairs and spilling like a waterfall to ripple back into the entrance to the chapel.  
  
He sat rigidly on the bride's side of the church, his Armani-clad shoulders stiff against the wooden pew. His handsome face was averted, turned toward the entrance, as if he was afraid he'd miss some answer, something important. Storm clouds gathered in his midnight eyes, and his mouth was set in a hard, thin line, pursed against his white, white teeth that gleamed against his tanned skin. The sharp angles and planes of his face were unrelenting as he grimaced. He hated *him*, the man who now came up the aisle in an immaculate tuxedo, looking every bit the part of a girlish fancy's prince.  
  
Brian Borchanski was half-German, half-Russian, and he was completely the opposite of the man looking fierce enough to kill with a glance. The groom was blonde, with a reddish tint, and his green eyes were constantly alight with laughter. Easygoing and undemanding, he spent every spare second of his time in the company of his bride, completely ignoring the heartbroken and admiring glances women sent him.  
  
"Isn't he something else?" He heard the middle-aged, obese woman behind him giggle excitedly. "I see I'll have to call on my cousin's daughter a lot more often." Her companion, another old maid, whispered something back. "No," the first woman interrupted, not bothering to lower her voice, "I definitely think Brian's more handsome than her first husband. There was something I never liked about him. I said to her mother at her first wedding, I said, 'You'd better watch that young man; there's something sinister and mysterious about him.'"  
  
"Well, *I* thought him perfectly attractive," her friend argued. "Those shocking blue eyes in that tanned Greek face-- "  
  
"Oh, I suppose if you *like* that sort of tall, dark, and handsome," the first woman waved airily. "He's a little too morbidly handsome and untrustworthy for my tastes. Yes, Mr. Borchanski is definitely more attractive-- definitely someone a girl could bring home to mama."  
  
"Yes," the second woman agreed unexpectedly. "There was something wicked about her ex-husband. He was someone a girl would try to hide from her mama."  
  
The said ex-husband was flushing to the roots of his black hair, his knuckles turning almost white beneath the golden tan as he clutched the edge of the pew. He forced himself to focus on the bridesmaids who were making their way up the aisle now. It seemed almost surreal to him, none of the bridesmaids had been replaced since his own wedding five years ago.  
  
He caught the sad, reproachful glance that the Maid of Honor sent his way. You bastard, Raye Hutchinson scolded. Now look what you've done; you've lost her forever...   
  
Before he could reply and defend himself, the Bridal March began on the organ, and with the rustling of a hundred skirts, the church collectively stood to face the entrance expectantly. And then suddenly, she was blushing in the doorframe, smiling happily up at her father. He drew his breath in sharply, recognizing her wedding gown...   
  
  
  
"Oh, darling! Come shopping with me, please?" She had turned her luminous sapphire eyes on him, and he had impulsively set aside his paperwork to don his light jacket and grasp her tiny hand in his own large one. He could feel her diamond digging into the flesh of his palm, and he liked the sensation, quickly shooting a threatening glance at a young man who was almost drooling at his oblivious fiancee.  
  
"Ohh, in here! I want to look for a wedding dress!" She tugged him into the tiny boutique.  
  
"I thought it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride's dress," he chuckled softly.  
  
She pouted childishly. "Well, it's true love, so how much luck can we need?"  
  
He had certainly thought the gown was lucky when he handed over his MasterCard to the eager saleswoman behind the counter. Sleek and smooth, the gown was sheer satin with lace and a sunburst of pearls over the bodice. It molded to her upper body and fell gracefully to the floor, flaring out. "I feel just like a princess," she told him dreamily, "and I'm marrying my Prince Charming."  
  
But the fairytale had ended...   
  
  
  
And here she was in the same gown, walking shyly up the aisle again. The years had rendered her even more beautiful, if that was possible. But something was missing...   
  
She wasn't glowing. She wasn't radiating happiness or oozing excitement with every step. Her gaze was still shy, but there was something almost hard about it, an intangible fear, as she glanced up at her husband-to-be.  
  
He had stolen her innocence.  
  
And she had stolen his heart.  
  
Their eyes met across the sea and expanse of endless expectant faces. Blue quavered as blue caressed. She looked away hesitantly, a tear gleaming in her eye. "I do," she murmured firmly, feeling her lover's fingers tighten around hers comfortingly. She suddenly felt warm and safe, completely comfortable... and absolutely reassured because it simply wasn't him and thereby wasn't dangerous or exciting or heartstopping. She almost missed it. Almost.  
  
She kissed him then, the church sighing in contentment. He clenched his fists at his side, balling them up and digging them into his thighs. His fingers slowly relaxed as the newlyweds parted, smiling and flushing with happiness and radiance, tripping and grinning down the velvet carpet, down.  
  
He stood automatically with the women pressed on either side of him, women who now turned from him discreetly and whispered, "The poor man-- how is he holding up?" and answered immediately, "I don't know; do you suppose he still loves her?" Then they clucked their tongues and gossiped, "But you know, they say he threw away her love anyway." Turning back to watch the happy bride, they concluded, "Yes, a man who cheats on his wife deserves to lose her... "  
  
And lose her I did, he thought darkly.  
  
  
  
"Darling?" her voice drifted into his study, sweet and silky like a cat. She followed through the door, holding a tray with a simple sandwich and a can of Pepsi.  
  
His back was to the door as he sprawled on top of his older business partner. Setsuna Meiou purred and curled beneath him, not bothering to hide her blatant nakedness pressed against the dark oak of his desk. She stared unbelievingly at the oblivious pair, their dark hair mingling together and their bodies gyrating. She averted her eyes, set the tray quietly on a nearby bookcase, and remembered to shut the door behind her.  
  
She was gone by suppertime.  
  
They were entertaining that night, and he was furious, pounding on her dressing room door where he thought she'd be, powdering her face or maybe even dozing. "Get the hell out here!" he roared. "Don't you know how much this matters to me?" Nothing answered him, and he jingled the locked knob angrily several times before heaving with brute strength at the wooden door until it caved.  
  
The room was empty, most of her beautiful clothes gone. He growled in his throat, a low and primitive sound, stalking to her dresser. He snatched up the note scribbled in her smooth, elegant handwriting, turning paler with every word. Nothing was an accusation; the only trace of emotion was the path of a salt tear that must have fallen and blurred the elements of his name...   
  
"Goodbye," she had said, and he wept, batting away Setsuna's hesitant touch as if it burned his shoulder.  
  
  
  
"Don't you think you've had enough?" his best friend's voice broke into his thoughts, snatching away his champagne glass.  
  
"No," he said, eyes narrowing, "I'm serfectly pober, Drew."  
  
Andrew Fredericks chuckled and pulled out a chair for himself. "That's got to be at least the twentieth glass I've seen you down." He shrewdly held the glass far from the man's grasp, eluding a sudden lunge.  
  
"Oh, hell," he said irritably. "If your Mina went off and sarried momeone else, I'd have to fish you out of bome sar and drive you hack bome." His words were slurred together, and he stumbled to pronounce some words. Why didn't it sound right?  
  
"Probably," Andrew admitted gallantly. "But, of course, I'm faithful to my wife."  
  
His glare was deadly-- or, at least, it would have been very menacing and perhaps frightening if his blasted eyes would adjust. His vision was blurred, and when had Andrew spouted two new heads? "Thanks, I know I can always count on you to mick a kan when he's down."  
  
"It's not a total loss," the blonde told him optimistically. "She can always divorce Brian, you know."  
  
He snorted. "Of course, and she'd run straight into my arms, because I'm just cho sarming."  
  
"You need to work on that charming bit," Andrew said bluntly. "But there's no time like the present." He looked meaningfully at the bride waltzing happily on the arm of mutual friend Dr. Greg Matthews. Andrew grabbed his wrist forcefully and shoved him in their general direction, rolling his eyes mockingly as he steered the far-from-sober man toward the couple. "Heellooo, you two," Andrew sang out as he draped his arm over the petite blonde's bare shoulder, thus leaving the bride's ex-husband to hiccup and study the coat rack across the room, squinting his eyes. "Hey-- congratulations, munchkin. I'd give you a noogie, but it *is* your wedding reception."  
  
"Thank you for the consideration, Andy," she giggled.  
  
"No problem, my dear," he said smoothly. "But I'll have to steal away your dance partner for a while; I've been meaning to ask him some questions about stocks." He smiled innocently at the two of them, and Greg, looking apprehensively at the drunk man beside them, understood the hint and let his hands drop from his friend's waist. "But not to worry, I brought you a dance partner." He reached behind him and pulled his companion forward, who chose at that moment to lurch unsteadily forward.  
  
"Darien?" The shock was evident in her blue eyes as she took in his pathetic condition. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, the dark circles beneath his eyes all too familiar to her. The alcohol stench from him was overwhelming, and she wrinkled her nose unconsciously.  
  
"Serena." He was suddenly alert, overly-bright eyes drinking in the sight of her. The sapphire material of her satin gown contrasted sharply with her milky skin, swirling around her shoulders and hugging her curves to her tapering waist, then flaring naturally to her feet. She looked so beautiful, like a-- "Princess."  
  
~~~~~~*~~~  
  
Copyrighted/Written: January 12, 2002.  
It was really hard, not naming the two characters throughout the story. But there was never any doubt as to who they were, right? ^_^ As for Darien's drunken dialogue, hopefully you all understood that. I have to admit that inspiration was drawn from the poem "Sotally Tober." I'm actually not quite certain how this novel will turn out, so any suggestions would be welcome. Reviews or e-mails to tammiest@yahoo.com are greatly appreciated. And, of course, constructive flames.  
Thanks to: my wonderful spell-check.  
"If I am a jewel, as a dear friend once flirtatiously dubbed me, I am an opal. Fiery ice swirling in the milk-white of innocence. Passion and compassion. Myself to the core." Surprisingly enough, I wrote that. It's just to clarify any questions on my strange pen-name. 


End file.
